


But As The Terebinth And Oak

by SophiaOfTheSevenStorms



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Devotion, M/M, One-sided pining, more tags to be added in later chapters, post episode 120
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16522838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaOfTheSevenStorms/pseuds/SophiaOfTheSevenStorms
Summary: Elias closes his eyes and watches his Archivist





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Getting on that post-120 fic train, several weeks too late but oh well. Also, please forgive the unbearably pretentious fic title, I just couldn't help myself.

The lights go out. Elias can hear the guards walking the corridors, checking each cell to ensure the inmates are obeying their mandated bed time. He doesn’t bother following them with anything but his ears- they are not worth the energy it would take to See them properly. When the footsteps make their way to his cell door he lies very still, breathing slowly and deeply in an imitation of sleep. The guard moves on and Elias lets himself relax. Finally, he can afford to focus on what is truly important.

Elias closes his eyes and watches his Archivist. Jon is walking his nightmares again, his eyes a little brighter than last time, his hands a little steadier. It is getting easier for him to look. To See. With every cycle of slow surrender to their watchful Master, his Archivist is changing; growing more and more into what he is destined to become; what Elias will help him become. The thought is like a chord resonating through him, the high hum of anticipation blending with the low, rich reverberance of reverent awe. Jon is so beautiful already, his wild-eyed prodigy carved with the marks of his unwilling worship- how much more spectacular will he be when he is crowned in the Watcher’s splendour?

He lets his gaze flicker to Jon’s body, lying cold and motionless on his hospital bed. His grey eyes are shut and his face is calm, no sign of the terror dancing behind his skull. When was the last time Elias had seen his Archivist so calm, so seemingly free of care? Since his return to the Archives, every time he sees Jon now he is glaring at him, frustration and resentment scrawled across his face like the scribblings of an overtired child. Elias tries to cool his anger, to guide him to understand the reasons behind what he does, but the truth is he doesn’t try very hard. His Archivist is stubborn, defiant, bordering on petulant, and so, _so_ lovely that sometimes looking at him hurts almost as much as looking away. All that will be gone soon, of course. So much of what Jon is now will be lost, unrecognisable in the ecstasy of his apotheosis, and Elias exhales hard against the ache that settles in his chest, tells himself it is just another facet of the sharp, sweet longing that fills him every time he contemplates his Master’s ascendancy.

It hurts to go against his own nature, to lie, even to himself, but he has been doing it for so long now that he barely notices it.

Elias lies back against the thin mattress. He can feel a headache building just behind his temples. He should check in on the Institute- Peter would be expecting it by now, and his own sense of professional pride demands it. But he is just far too tired. Finance reports and Martin’s growing neurosis can all wait until tomorrow. Even whatever mess Peter is doubtless making of his carefully calculated weekly schedule can wait. His Archivist is more important.

He pushes past the growing pain in his skull and focuses on the body lying in the hospital bed. Frustrating as it was to have his every action decided for him, the mandatory bedtime is actually an advantage now. The quiet and the dark filters out all unnecessary distractions, bringing him out of his cold, prison cell and into Jon’s room. Elias focuses all his attention on bringing the room into tangibility, the scene sharpening like knives behind his eyes. The air smells of disinfectant and whatever garish flowers Martin left there the other day. A heart monitor is beeping a few doors down, a reminder of Jon’s own lack of need for such equipment that really shouldn’t sting the way it does. He shouldn’t have to remind himself that Jon’s current state is a good thing, something he has wanted and sought after for a long time. The timing was less than ideal, it was true, and the uncertainty over exactly how long he would remain in this state was… even less optimal… but all this time basking in the unbroken gaze of their master’s Eye was doing wonders for Jon’s development. This was exactly what he had always wanted. Of course it was.

Elias draws his consciousness closer to Jon’s body, ignoring the way the pain in his head grows louder as he does so. His Master’s powers were never meant to be used for this purpose, never meant to let him exist within a scene so completely. The Archivist may lose themselves within the statements they take, but _he_ was meant to be more detached. More controlled. He feels the weight of the Eye’s gaze on the back of his neck, cold and faintly disappointed, and is shocked to realise that, for the first time since he can remember, he doesn’t care. Jon’s hand is lying on top of the thin blanket, scar-streaked and bloodless and far too still. Elias reaches for it, pictures his fingers curling around Jon’s own, the weight of Jon’s palm against his, the unnatural cold of his skin. The pain behind his eyes rises to a shrill scream, whiting out everything around him. His eyes snap open and he is staring at the dirty ceiling of his prison cell, barely visible in the gloom. The pain is gone but his heart is racing and he turns his face into the pillow to hide his ragged, gasping breaths.

He closes his eyes; all of them, this time. Feeling disappointment over his failure would be pointless and foolish, so he doesn’t allow himself the luxury. His Master may not approve of him using the powers it had given him for such purposes, but for all its Sight, he thinks perhaps it does not understand. Jon is the Archivist, _his_ Archivist; it is only natural that Elias should be unable to tear his eyes away from him. That he should long to be close to him, even despite this enforced distance. But no matter. He will try again tomorrow, and the day after that if need be, for as long as it takes. After all, both he and Jon have nothing but time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for yet another incredibly short chapter, guys, particularly after so long without an update, but things are incredibly busy for me right now and I don't really have much time at all for writing, but I wanted to get at least something out before this is all inevitably made completely irrelevant by whatever wonderful and terrible things the RQ gang have for us on the 10th, so we're doing this thing one scene per chapter now, sorry. Anyway, please enjoy and I hope you all are having a lovely Christmas and New Year break.

“You look awful.”

Peter Lukas smiles at him from the other side of the glass as Elias does his best not to roll his eyes. But blunt as he always is, Peter isn’t wrong. His tawny skin makes it easier to hide some of the signs of chronic exhaustion but there was no concealing the deep, bruise-like circles under his eyes or the weight he’s lost since his arrest.

“Prison life not suiting you well?” The concern in Peter’s voice would be grating if it wasn’t so obviously fake. “Or perhaps you’ve been expending your energies on... less than fruitful pursuits, hmmm?”

Elias sighs, louder than he really needs to. Peter likes a bit of drama in their interactions, likes to get a rise out of people, and Elias is more than happy to indulge the whims of such an old friend. He doesn’t bother worrying about how Peter knows about the distant vigil he’s keeping over his Archivist; Peter may not have the power of an all-seeing god at his disposal but the Lukases have been in the game more than long enough to have their own ways. 

“How I spend my time here is really none of your concern.” 

Peter narrows his eyes, a hint of storm clouds disturbing the ocean blue. The effect is performative, bordering on showy, but Elias doesn’t doubt the reality of the feeling behind it. 

“You made it my concern when you asked me to watch over your institute,” his tone hasn’t changed. It very pointedly hasn’t changed. “ _Jonah Magnus_ made it my concern when he tied the fates of our family, of our god, to your institute. You- _we_ \- are so close to everything we’ve ever hoped for, too close for me to let you get distracted over some corpse you want to fuck.”

For a moment Elias feels a spark of real anger behind all the verbal sparring and carefully crafted emotional displays. He laid his life on the altar of Beholding over twenty years ago, freely surrendered every corner of his soul to its service and has lived for nothing else since. That Peter could even _think_ to imply… 

He can’t even begin to let himself process the thrill of rage that courses through him, ice-cold and burning, at Peter’s final remark.

“Never doubt- _never doubt_ , Peter, that everything I do is to bring about the Eye’s ascendancy.” 

Elias pushes the anger down, lets his eyes grow dark and his tone grow cold. But not too cold, not enough to let Peter know he’s touched the nerve he was grasping for. 

“We are only as close as we are to the Watchers Crown in large part due to the startling progress and astonishing raw talent of this Archivist. The last two hundred years of preparation would be meaningless without an Archivist capable of bringing the ritual to fruition and we finally have that in Jonathan… who, as you so _helpfully_ point out, is in a somewhat vulnerable position right now. So you’ll forgive me for wanting to ensure that nothing happens to him.” 

“Alright, alright, that’s a fair point.” Peter laughs, like church bells at a loveless wedding. “But remember to keep things in perspective, Elias. Personally, I’m having a lovely time watching over your Institute and all its staff, but for things to proceed as they should, we need you back in charge. The Eye needs you back where you belong, so you better start working on making that happen.” 

As if he doesn’t know that already… but then, Peter had always been a patronising bastard. 

Peter’s grin widens as Elias tries to hide his frown. “Head-over-heels is a good look on you, but there’s a time and a place, yeah?”

Elias breathes in through his nose and out again through his mouth, keeping his hands still and his eyes steady. He is in control. He will not let Peter's clumsy attempts at mockery affect him. 

“Aw, don’t be like that, darling…" Peter tilts his head, eyes narrowing. "It’s really quite cute. I haven’t seen you this lovesick since…” He pauses, looking up for a moment in mock-contemplation. “Well, since me, honestly.” 

Peter’s eyes are the blue of icebergs in the northernmost lakes. Elias meets that frozen gaze and tries to forget how it had felt to be in love with him. Like ice water filling his lungs with every breath, and Peter had always done his best to try and drown him. It had taken Elias years to fight his way back to the surface and here Peter is, doing his best to drag him back down. 

“Don’t even think to compare yourself to Jonathan, Peter.” When did his throat get so dry? “The connection I have with my Archivist is beyond anything you could hope to understand. You, or any of your kind.” 

He’s tempted to shift some small part of his attention to Jon and his dreamscape but there’s no way to do that without Peter noticing. 

“If you say so…” Peter shrugs. “So long as you don’t let yourself get too distracted, Elias, you can _connect_ with whoever you please. Just don’t let yourself lose sight of the ultimate goal. My family have waited too long and invested too much to let you fail us now.” 

A buzzer rings, signalling the end of visiting time and Peter stands. He smiles at the guard who comes to escort him out of the prison, turning his head to give one last, parting remark.

“You always were far too sentimental, Elias. I’ve kept my end of the bargain so far; it’s time now that you started to keep yours, unless you want to find out just how truly irreplaceable that Archivist of yours is.”


End file.
